


patron saint to those in need

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Series: vices and virtues [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Electrician Dean Winchester, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Priest Castiel (Supernatural), St. Nicholas Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Castiel was just thumbing through a book about Thomas Aquinas, trying to work on his sermon for Sunday, when there was a knock on the door jamb. Castiel nearly dropped his book when he looked up and saw Dean leaning against the door frame.or, the one where cas is a priest, dean is an electrician, and their friendship is about to take a step in a new direction, thanks to a christmas parade, some hot chocolate, and wiring in an old church.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: vices and virtues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161866
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	patron saint to those in need

**Author's Note:**

> hi-ho folks! today (dec 6) is my birthday! and st. nicholas day! to celebrate, i thought i'd write a cute lil fic for y'all :) writing this filled me with a lot of joy!
> 
> a little context--I'll mention it in-story, but cas is an episcopal priest in this story. I am a born and raised, baptized and confirmed Episcopalian, so I have the experience to say that this is a-okay! we jokingly call ourselves "off-brand catholics" because, while we observe the seven sacraments, our services are a lot like mass (including communion w/ real wine every Sunday), we have priests and bishops and nuns and such, we are traditionally more liberal. a few examples: same-sex marriage is permitted, women can be priests, queer people can be priests, and priests can be married and/or have kids! so :) not that y'all care but I just wanted to establish that this is just a cute story.
> 
> finally, I just wanted to shout out my pals who beta'd this story for me, kenzie (I'll link her socials when I get them!) and grace ([make_your_user_a_name](https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_your_user_a_name/pseuds/make_your_user_a_name) or [tearsofgrace](https://tearsofgrace.tumblr.com) on tumblr) for beta-ing this for me :) grace even though a part two might be fun, so we'll see...
> 
> as always, extra props goes to the profound bond discord server for helping me brainstorm a couple things. if you're 18+, [join us!](https://discord.gg/profoundbond) we're good fun :)
> 
> if you liked this, i post more stuff here sometimes and also on [my tumblr](https://one-more-offbeat-anthem.tumblr.com) :) happy birthday to me!

Castiel turned off his alarm clock and rolled over in his bed to face his desk. The “Birds of America” themed calendar that hung over it told him that today was December sixth--St. Nicholas Day. And the day of the annual Christmas parade.

He swung himself out of bed, slipping his feet into his slippers and padding down the hallway of the parsonage to his tiny kitchen. He put on his kettle to boil and then sat down at the table, thumbing through his daily planner.

Being the priest at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in the small town of Galena, Illinois, was a nice job. He wasn’t too far from his family in Pontiac, the congregation was nice: sizable but small enough for him to know everyone, and around Christmastime, it was one of the best places to be. Galena went all out for the holidays--a tree downtown, wreaths adorning streetlights, a food drive at the supermarket, and a massive Christmas parade. As St. Stephen’s was downtown and on the parade route, they always served hot chocolate and cookies from their foyer during the parade, along with setting up the angel tree (which was, of course, Castiel’s job).

After tea was drunk and toast was eaten, Castiel got dressed--black slacks, dress shoes, black button-down, white clerical collar. It was a simple life, alone in the parsonage with not even a pet to keep him company, but he didn’t mind. He could simply walk from the parsonage to the church next door, and there was usually at least one parishioner there. If not, his secretary, Daphne, was often in attendance at her desk. 

Today was no different.

“Happy St. Nicholas Day, Father Cas!” she said as he entered their shared office. The nickname of “Cas” had caught on quick, with everyone deeming “Castiel” to be too much of a mouthful. 

“Same to you, Daphne. How’s your family?” he asked, sorting through the mail, which was mostly junk mail.

“We’re great. Excited for the parade tonight, of course. I got Eleanor a new dress--” And thus Daphne launched into an explanation of how her youngest daughter was going to be on a float, and her husband James was driving the truck pulling it. Castiel halfway listened before unceremoniously dumping most of the mail in the recycling. 

“Oh,” she added breathlessly to the end of her saga of dress-buying and float-pulling, “Dean Winchester called, you know, from the electrician’s? Says he can come by at noon to check the wiring on the lightswitch in the sacristy.”

“Thank you, Daphne.” Castiel permitted himself a small smile at the mention of the electrician. Dean had started coming to St. Stephens about a year ago, after doing some electric work for them. Castiel had encouraged him to come, and now he felt like he could count the other man as a friend.

If truth was told, sometimes Castiel wished that their friendship could be something more--after all, their denomination celebrated queer relationships as part of acceptance of all of God’s children--but he was pretty confident that Dean didn’t feel the same way. With his long and loud black car, his penchant for listening to classic rock while he worked (even if he was in the sanctuary), and his leather jacket and work boots, he was the antithesis of Castiel--and Castiel wasn’t willing to mess up their friendship by asking.

By the time noon rolled around, Daphne had gone on her lunch break, so Castiel was the only one in the office. He was just thumbing through a book about Thomas Aquinas, trying to work on his sermon for Sunday, when there was a knock on the door jamb. Castiel nearly dropped his book when he looked up and saw Dean leaning against the door frame. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said, eschewing the “Father” completely. “How goes it?”

“It’s going well,” Castiel said, shutting his book and setting it aside, “Daphne told me you were coming.”

“Yeah, I talked to her on the phone,” Dean said as Castiel got up to take him to the sacristy, “Got an earful about some parade float.”

“I did as well.” Castiel let out a low laugh. It wasn’t like Dean actually needed to be shown where the sacristy was--he had done enough work over the past year or so that he knew where everything was--but Castiel just wanted an excuse to talk to him.

“You need help setting up the angel tree?” Dean asked, “Before the parade tonight?”

“It would be nice,” Castiel admitted. “Although the children made the ornaments in Sunday school last week. The only thing to do is get the tree up and put them on.”

The angel tree was one of Castiel’s favorite things about Christmas. Every year, presents were gathered for families in need; each angel-shaped paper ornament was for a family, and contained a list of gifts that the family might want. Some were specific (perhaps a new coat for a child who wore a size medium) and others were more general, like “toys” or “sweaters.” Dean had taken at least three ornaments and returned carefully wrapped packages to the church last year, muttering something about “understanding what it was like to miss Christmas.” 

Not that Castiel didn’t know anything about Dean’s childhood. Dean was a talker, and, if he had the time, Castiel would linger while he was working on whatever electrical problem had sprung up in the old church--and, once, in the parsonage, where Castiel had become quite embarrassed when Dean had discovered his stack of knitting magazines next to the electric fireplace. 

In fact, Dean was talking right now.

“And then,” Dean said, “Sammy told me that I would have to come to  _ him  _ for Christmas, but what does he think I am, made of money? I can’t fly to California, so I’m gonna have to drive, and his apartment is the size of a fuckin’--sorry, Cas--postage stamp, ‘specially with Jess’s baby comin’ along…” Dean pried the plate off of the lightswitch. “Oh man, the wiring in here is shot to hell. Sorry.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, “For the last time, you don’t have to apologize every time you swear. I’m a priest, not a prude.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” Dean peered into the switch, “Whoever did this had no clue what they were doin’. But I should be able to fix it. Just gotta get my toolbox from Baby.”

Castiel followed Dean back out of the sacristy, and then headed to his office, telling Dean to come get him when he was done with the wiring. As Castiel heated up soup for his lunch in the tinny microwave, he reflected on how  _ nice  _ it was to know Dean  _ and  _ what Dean was talking about--his younger brother Sammy, who was a lawyer, and his wife Jess, or the fact that he called his car Baby. Castiel was pretty sure he didn’t have any stories or quirks like that, unless you counted being a queer priest who liked to knit. 

(He typically didn’t.)

About thirty minutes later, Dean was leaning on the door frame again, his tawny hair a little bit mussed. “Whaddya have for lunch, Cas?” he asked. 

“Roasted vegetable soup.”

“Nice.” Dean laughed, and he always laughed big and full. “Healthy. I had a burger before I came over here--don’t tell Sammy. He’s always beggin’ me to lay off the cholesterol.” 

“I won’t tell your brother,” Castiel said solemnly, garnering another laugh out of Dean. 

Setting up the angel tree in the foyer took longer than expected--Castiel didn’t quite remember how it went together, and Dean had never set it up before, but eventually they moved on to hanging ornaments on it. Castiel picked one up and turned to hang it when he ran smack into Dean. 

“Hi,” Dean said, his freckles and green eyes vibrant up close, the closest Castiel had ever been to Dean. “What’s up, Cas?”

Castiel suddenly felt very conscious of how messy his hair must be (no matter how much he tried, it  _ never  _ lay flat) and the blush spreading up his neck to his cheeks. “My apologies,” he said softly, stepping back. 

“No worries, man,” Dean said. They both hung up their ornaments, and then the tree was done. Dean bent over to pick up his toolbox and turned back to Castiel, “I’ll be here tonight, for the parade. So I’ll see you later, I guess.”

It was the first time Castiel had ever heard Dean be hesitant, and he nodded slightly, “Of course.”

“Well, bye, then.” Dean shouldered his way out of the foyer door, and Castiel watched his retreating form until Dean rounded the corner to the church’s parking lot.

For some reason, Castiel couldn’t wait for tonight.

\--------------------------------------------------

Castiel was on his second cup of hot chocolate and having a conversation with Ellen Harvelle, who was in charge of the altar guild, when he saw Dean come into St. Stephens’ foyer, stomping off his boots on the welcome mat, out of the corner of his eye. 

“I think we’ll have enough poinsettias for the Christmas Eve service, and the greenery sale ends tomorrow,” she was saying, and Castiel nodded politely, trying to keep himself focused. Outside the propped-open foyer doors, the parade was in full-swing. Daphne’s daughter’s float had already gone by, and Castiel had gotten yet  _ another  _ earful about it.

“Forgot to tell you, Ellen,” Dean said, inserting himself into the conversation, “I’d like to buy some greenery. I completely forgot that the sale ends soon.”

“Of course, Dean! Now, how are you doing?” Ellen asked as she rummaged in her purse for the order form, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. You’re still comin’ to church, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been going to the eleven o’clock service recently instead of the nine,” Dean said, “The good Father’s sermons go down easier when I get a chance to sleep in.”

Ellen laughed at that, and Castiel permitted himself a small smile as he tugged slightly on his clerical collar, which suddenly felt a little tight. Dean winked at Castiel as Ellen handed him the order form, and Castiel took a large sip of hot chocolate, feeling himself going red again. He then, of course, immediately choked on it.

“Jeez, Cas,” Dean said, turning abruptly and clapping him on the back, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Castiel wheezed, “Just...swallowed wrong.”

“If you say so.” Dean turned back to the greenery form and Castiel contemplated melting right into the carpet. 

He decided to go talk to a parishioner who made him blush less--Ketch. Ketch and Castiel didn’t always get along, but he was nice enough, and tonight he was buffered by his wife, Susan, and his two kids.

“Father Cas!” Ketch boomed as Castiel walked up, “How goes the season?”

“It’s been well,” Castiel said, “Have you had a chance to check out the angel tree?”

“Was going to do that next.”

“When’s the Christmas pageant again?” Susan interrupted to ask.

“December twentieth,” Castiel said, “I think Ms. Moseley, the Sunday school teacher, sent out an email, but I can double check.”

“That would be great.”

He made his rounds to other parishioners, asking them about their days and Christmas plans as the parade went on. As he headed back to the table to get more hot chocolate, he ran into Dean again. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean said, echoing himself from earlier that day, “How’s your St. Nicholas Day?”

“Pretty good.” Castiel glanced up at Dean as he poured his hot chocolate, “Yours? Oh  _ crap _ .”

“The good father curses!” Dean said, before looking down, “Shit, Cas. Lemme help.”   


Castiel had just, in his distraction, poured hot chocolate all over his hand. Dean grabbed a napkin and then Castiel’s hand, wiping it off as he asked, “You alright?”

“I’ve--” Castiel sighed, “I’ve been better.” He was sure now that his cheeks must have been flaming.

“No worries, man,” Dean said, throwing the napkin in the garbage can next to the table, “You gotta be more careful, though. You keep having all these hot chocolate accidents.”

“I’m not sure two in one evening counts as me continuously having them.”

“Oh, don’t be a robot about it.” But Dean was grinning. He looked at Castiel’s hand, which he was still holding, and then suddenly let go of it.

Castiel smiled a little bit, almost against his will, and then looked down at the floor. 

The parade was nearly over--Castiel could hear the high school band playing, and they were usually one of the last groups. He swallowed and chanced a look up. Dean was staring at him, as if Castiel was a particularly complicated or messed-up wiring he was trying to fix. 

“Say, Cas,” Dean said, dropping his voice, “I dunno what a priest’s schedule is like, but what are you doing this coming Friday?”

“Nothing.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably, “Why?”

“I was just wondering if, well…” There it was again, the wisp of uncertainty Castiel had noticed earlier. “If a priest such as yourself would wanna go get dinner with a guy like me. And by get dinner, I mean make burgers at my house and watch a shitty Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“I--” Castiel suddenly found himself tongue-tied, “I would--”

“Unless,” Dean started to backtrack, “Unless you don’t want to. Or can’t. Did I misread--”

“No,” Castiel said abruptly, and then corrected himself at the expression on Dean’s face, “I mean, no, you didn’t misread. I’d love to.”

“Then it’s a date.” Dean grinned at him before chucking the paper cup that his own hot chocolate had been in into the trash can. “Happy St. Nicholas Day, Cas. I’ll see you on Friday.” 

For the second time that day, Castiel watched him leave. The other parishioners filtered out, too, as the parade ended, leaving Castiel by himself in the foyer again. He was pleased to see that the angel tree was completely void of ornaments now. He checked the floor for trash before closing and locking the foyer doors and tying up the trash bag to take out tomorrow morning. He turned off the lights and decided to stop by the sanctuary before heading back to the parsonage next door.

Castiel looked up at the cross above the altar in the quiet sanctuary, and silently thanked God for a productive night of fellowship and fun, and for everyone taking all the ornaments. He bowed his head, crossing himself, and then headed out. 

When he got to the parsonage and opened the front door, he noticed that someone had shoved something through his mail slot. He bent over and picked it up--it was the Christmas edition of  _ Knitter’s World _ , complete with a picture of a red-and-green afghan on the cover. Attached to it was a post-it note with something scribbled on it in truly atrocious handwriting. 

_ Saw this at the supermarket and thought of you. See you Friday. --Dean _

A happy St. Nicholas Day, indeed. 


End file.
